Anna-Marie With Her Shotgun

Chapter Thirteen

Unfortunately I've never
been one to voice things, and yet on some level I think she knew my
feelings for her. And if there was a single common thing about abuse
survivors, often one has a hard time sorting out their feelings for
other people. I'm one to assume even poisoners have feelings for other
people. Almost to an exaggerated degree. You find yourself growing
gradual disdain for the guardian that was suppose to take care of and
protect you. Remember, I was there once. I just got out of the house in
time, and never had those desires since. And so while I don't exactly
approve of slipping cyanide in someone's coffee, it is an understandable
feeling to me when someone continuously spanks you and never letting
up.

And yet, despite my
insistence on cooking, and her more strongly insisting I haven't died so
far, although I might give it weeks at the most.

Yet whenever I am home she is happy to see me now.

A very different girl
from the one I met. She was a lot dirtier then, but now if I describe
her appearance her skin tone is paradox of tan and pale, she looks as if
someone who could be more dark skinned like a Spaniard, and yet do to
lack of exposure from sunlight she is so pale. And her hair is as dark
as a black rose. Her body was a petite skinny hour glass shape, with the
larger end around the bottom and smaller on top. Her hair the gently
trimmed shoulder length darkness one associates with a guillotine cut
having grown out over the last six months. I asked her why she kept her
hair at that length. "It reminds me of how close I came to losing it
all." And I knew exactly what she meant, teenage girl there really did.

Even their heads.

Hey don't look at me
like that, I tend to pay attention to what I like. Even if they aren't a
good person. Especially guillotine cuts. We embrace for the midnight
bed, under the glow of the lunar light shining over the mountains.

You know how it is when you date an ex poisoner without the ability to poison.

I hear her loading up a
shotgun, so I wake up. But instead of pointing that gun at me like I was
expecting (I will not kill in most cases, but will out of self
defense), she is instead putting the shotgun in her mouth.

So for the first time in
my life I was forced into the situation of having to talk somebody down
from suicide, not exactly something I was experienced with. I had
poisoned myself about three times before meeting her, and I was barely
in a mental state to help. And yet the adrenaline rush made me take the
shotgun from her hands, and she fired it to the ceiling.

"Why were you going to do that, I was going to miss you." I said.

"Nobody misses me, I
have nobody." And then she passes out onto the floor, convulsing and
hoping that I wouldn't spank her. And I didn't, that's just not how you
treat anyone in that kind of a mental state.

And then I hugged her gently.

I allowed her to cry in my shoulders.

There were things she
finally confessed, when I promised my beloved that I was not the type to
judge someone based on their past.

Anna-Marie remembered
when she had first took an airplane to the US. She had just barely been
acquitted for her serial murder of her two brothers and her father. Her
father would try to reserve sexual favors for himself, her becoming a
kind of surrogate mother after Elizabeth died.

Her brothers tried to
hide the fact that they threatened to hit her after she refused to get a
sickle for their farming. "I'm not your servant girl, no you fuck
yourself. Your smile penis does not compare to dad's." Her brother
Jacques was not happy about this, and would eventually, with the help of
his and Anna-Marie's younger brother, stalk her and drug her with wine.
Then they did was many disorderly brothers would do, that for sake of
good taste shall be left to your imagination. So it was a simple
solution, after she woke up in her bedroom she shared with her two
sisters.

She would poison her
brothers. She murdered her first brother with rice soup, and her
youngest brother and her father by a fight they challenged others in
order to try to win sexual favors. They both died in the fights. Her
sisters felt guilty about turning her sister in to authorities, so she
tried to be super nice to her after she was acquitted.

Anna-Marie only cried for what she did to her sisters whom she had always loved, but did not cry for her brothers and father.

She cried in my shoulder, partly out of joy and partly out of regret.

I was simply happy I could give her the shoulder to cry on.

Anna-Marie dropped off
contact with her family, leaving a suicide letter and a farewell with an
I love you and an apology for the stress of almost having lost another
family member. "Don't forget me, I want to come with you." Ursula said,
but Anna-Marie insisted she preferred to be alone. She could never go
back to her old society, not with the crimes that she had done.

So coming to US was a mix of fear and emotional triggers from her old life. She wondered if she would see her sisters again.

Anna-Marie wore a cowboy
hat, got herself a shotgun, and headed for the new digital frontier of
the North West. Things had changed in the US after the French take over,
and she wondered if she would be known her. But society had changed
considerably since the former half of the twenty first century.

Perhaps she could start a new life. There was only one certainty.

She missed her mother Elizabeth.

She would tell me of
difficulties she had adjusting to the new life here in the United
States. Things were never really the same.

Anna-Marie had
difficulty sleeping. She had constant memories of the guillotine that
never came to be. She would at time wonder what it would have been like
if she had her neck placed into a loop, and then it was all o'er. Her
last remaining vision being the the crowd of the new twenty first, who
became increasingly vicious for blood after the election of "The Ink
Pen" who resigned the Guillotine back into law after the rest of Europe
was dealing with the Post Nazi Restoration Party's advance. Japan always
renewed their imperialist fervor.

The Guillotine Gun. The new national razor. The second widow. It was all part of the new right wing's game.

And poor Anna, the girl who trusted no man, almost died.

She could have been lost in the game.

I had heard about a
similar criminal case who, while she was not exactly the contemporary of
Anna-Marie, she was of similar type of criminal case. She would
eventually come to poison members of her own family.

Really more of an
Irish-American friend I knew, they called her Betty even though her real
name was Bette. In case the daughter they adopted turned out to be
completely psychotic in later years, they did not want their beloved
classic to end up being libeled and never read again. Betty would at
times deliberately change the name of the house name board on houses
along the coast of the North West, out of a sense of mischief and to see
whether this would manipulation local fire trucks from coming to her
family, that would occasionally be called because of accidental fires
her brother would cause in the kitchen.

"How many times have I
told you boys to be careful in there?" said their mother, who said it in
a more playful way than she would have if Betty had done so. Betty had
always been the outsider of the family, and so she would often receive
generally harsher treatment overall than her older male siblings.

"Sorry mom, it won't happen again." one brother said.

"Make sure of that guy." Betty said, being slapped in the face by mother.

"Only natural born
MacCuffins can lecture them." her mother lectured. And this became
something that Betty would come to take for granted.

Whenever they would have
the local seafood, she would always hate to offend them and their
cooking, and would at times find some excuse to avoid eating whatever it
was they offered do to their mom refuses to cook. So eventually Betty
moved beyond merely changing the name of title board of the beach house.
Part of must have hoped that changing the name of the board would make
them confuse houses, and so she would make her escape to a kind her
family.

Her fears of being
beaten for not liking their cooking were not exactly unfounded. At one
point a while ago she had been paddled by one because he was some
offended by one of her remarks. So she decided there was only one
certain way to stop the beatings once and for all. But her family had to
be gone from the beach house, and she had to offer the cooking for the
following evening.

She made seafood like
her family, and her brothers commented, surprisingly how particularly
interesting and fantastic the fish was this evening. And despite feeling
somewhat ill, in fact requested to their mother to perhaps let their
sister help them with the cooking more often. This gave Betty some
guilt.

However by the time
bedtime rolled around, bother her brothers fell gravely ill. Eventually
they fade out of existence the following morning. She had strained
relationships with her parents, but her parents by this point were to
afraid of pissing her off that they said nothing. But Betty started to
get paranoid.

So she stabbed both her parents.

When the neighbor heard
screams, the neighbors got involved. Law enforcement did not
particularly dealing with cases dealing with child abuse, but had
particular disdain of the old majority that ruled this country, even if
perhaps the evidence suggested that Betty's real mother was French.

Betty had a quick trail, some suggested judicial error.

She was taken to the
courtyard, held in confinement for a few days. And then taken out for
her execution. She walked up the scaffold stairs in a nervous wreck, and
almost couldn't make it to the center. They closed the loop on the
guillotine gun around her small frail neck, and then counted down.

The trigger was pulled,
the angled blade flew through her neck. Her head fell down onto the
scaffold floor below. Because there was no board to hold her upright,
the execution largely being rushed to avoid detection by children's
rights activists from human rights international being involved, they
wanted the case to be as over quickly as they could possibly make it.

The executioner held up her head for all to see.

And then quickly
prepared funeral arrangements. I only know so much, because I could have
been an apprentice for said events, but had luckily gotten sick from
the idea of killing a girl that could have been a friend.

So they had me watch her demise instead to learn.

And I sure did learn
quite a bit. That in this country we call home, it was a vastly
different from the old world where childhood was sacred.

Kids lost their heads like anyone else.

I cried myself to sleep
that night, vowing that I would someday completely eliminate everyone
from the French government in my country. That I would use the
toothpicks I owned to torture them, and never let them die.

To poke them till they leave the country.

I was reminded again, of
how much I valued meeting a girl that could have been executed. It was
the first time I comprehended how opposed to capital punishment I really
was.

Hemato Tomato's Irish father took on a job working for the French Guillotine Gun family expecting her to continue to have the desires she has always had. But when a young girl her age dies by the national razor, she begins to regret all the desires she has ever had.
She longs to die by Anna-Marie's side...

This text is protected by copyright law and property of Sarah Rebecca Weaver.

Sarah Rebecca Weaver

I write Splattertopia, a blend of splatterpunk and Dystopia. Below is also some Paranormal Espionage, and Semi-Fiction. I dislike comedy, so please no book recommendations in that genre.
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